by Fields, MJ
I think back to the shooting in Vegas. He didn’t have sex with me that night because he didn’t want to hurt me or take advantage. It’s my fault that I didn’t speak up this time. I should have told him no and used my words. Instead, I just moaned. How can I blame him? Excuses.
I turn to my right, and I hiss from the stinging pain.
In his warm home, he brings me into his bathroom and wipes down my back with a washcloth dipped in hot water and soap before covering my abrasions with Neosporin. Gathering me into his chest, he brings me into his bed and tucks me into his sheets. I haven’t said a word since we got here, but he doesn’t seem to notice. When I’m set, he puts his shoes back on.
“I’ll be back in a few hours. Do you need anything else?”
I shake my head. And then he leaves. I curl into the fetal position in his bed, smelling his sheets when I finally break down and cry.
Eighteen
Slade
I get back into the truck, cursing. I’m a total fuckup. Even when I’m straight, I continue to hurt her. I tore up her back, for Christ’s sake! What’s wrong with me? Speeding back to the Mile, I ask myself what it is I think I’m doing with a woman like her. My head pounds as my demons begin talking over one another. I need to go back home, have a few drinks, and take more pills if I’m going to survive another night. With a shaking hand, I flip open my glove compartment and take out three. I’m not sure which ones they are, but whatever. Just need something to numb my brain.
What are my options? I could tell her why I take them, so she can stay in safety. I can just be honest, tell her what’s going on in my head, and stop the hiding and the lying. But do I trust her to keep my secret? If she tells Eve and Eve tells Vincent, my career is done. Vincent is my best friend, but after Eve, work will always come first. He’s ruthless when it comes to cutting shit that’s bad for business. Why would I be different? No. I slam the steering wheel. I’ll keep popping the pills. They’ll keep me afloat until this issue I’ve got disappears on its own. I have about a month’s supply right now. That’s enough. It’s got to be.
I pull back into the restaurant, my eyes not far from this asshole Alexander. I know exactly who he is. Before Vincent gave him the lease to open Hook, I did a full background check. Vincent only wants the cleanest businessmen involved in the Mile.
In addition to Hook, he owns restaurants all over the United States and abroad. He’s also in the club business. Never been married. Went to NYU. Began with small club promotions and slowly built up his own brand. The guy is completely kosher, and I want to wring his goddamn neck. He’s exactly who Lauren should be with. Successful. Good-looking. And fucking sane.
I’m looking around the room, heart pumping wildly.
“You doing good?” Vincent asks, eyes lowered. He sees something’s up with me.
“Yep. I’m going to watch the back entrance for a while.” I move away, walking the perimeter of the restaurant until I find a nice dark corner to watch the crowd.
He follows at my heels.
“I didn’t say I was finished talking to you.” He turns me around. “Where the fuck is your head, Slade? You’re falling, and don’t think I don’t see it.”
“Falling?” I repeat, laughing. “I’m straighter than ever.”
He crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Spoke to Rob, who told me he gave you some drugs to help you calm down and sleep. Have you tried to score more from anyone else? Harder shit?” His words are spoken dead seriously.
In another life, Vincent was the prince of the underground. He’s fierce in his loyalty and friendship. But cross him or lie, and he’ll cut you off at the knees.
Does he know about Lion and the MC? My fear becomes palpable. Without Vincent and the Milestone, I’ll have nothing.
He swallows before a long, tense silence fills the space between us. I clench my fists.
“Your stone face doesn’t fool me, Slade. I watched you on the boat. See the changes in your demeanor; you’ve become erratic. It started slow, but I worry you’ll become unreliable. You’ve got to get help …” He pauses, the or else hanging in the air.
“No,” I spit out.
“You know I love you like a brother. But I’m not asking you. I’m telling you. And if you refuse? We’re done. I can’t have my head of security be in denial about a problem. We have a huge project on our hands, bringing water onto the reservation. How can I do this with a man who lacks discipline and has a drug addiction? You have to face this shit head-on. Getting help and facing reality makes you a man, not a pussy.”
“I didn’t see you opening your fucking heart after the shit you went through.”
“That isn’t true.” He shakes his head. “First off, I had my woman by my side. We spoke to therapists separately and together.”
My heart picks up. “That’s fine. But it ain’t me.”
“Well, until you do, get the fuck out of here. I hate to show tough love, but having a dark undercurrent isn’t healthy. We’ve got a billion-dollar operation here. A slip up won’t be acceptable. And I’m not going to wait for it to happen. Get help or go home.”
He stares, waiting for me to cave.
But I can’t.
Instead, I turn away. It’s time to go.
When I open my truck’s door, Lauren’s smell lingers. All I want to do is run back to my place and see her. My life continues to unravel, but at least I’ve got a few more days where she’s near me. My heart beats straight through my chest. What did I take? I’m not even sure. I open the car window before pulling out a cigarette, smoking in a chain until I pull up to my driveway.
I quietly open and close my front door, not wanting to wake her. Pulling off my clothes, I watch her sleeping form in the dark. I enter my bathroom and turn on the sink. Cupping ice-cold water in my hands, I wash my face before scrubbing my hands with soap. Filling my cupped palms with water, I drink some.
My thoughts turn dark with how little control I have in my life. I wish I could go back in time and do things over, but I can’t. I’ve lost my job, the one solid thing that’s been giving my life meaning since leaving the Teams. What about the new construction project I’ve been helping with? Is that over now, too? Will Vincent no longer hire the veterans because of my fuckup?
I’m lucid enough to understand how desperate I feel. Getting help can’t be the answer. It would only make shit worse. If I spoke about how I killed Rex … if I spoke about my past and all the shit I’d done … it would unleash the hardest memories, and that’s something I can’t do. I shiver, wishing I could add a padlock to my memories. I swipe across my eyes with my forearm, feeling the wetness coat my cheeks.
Initially, the move to Nevada was phenomenal. My memories of war were sealed in a large compartment in the back of my brain, buried securely between the fresh mountain air and heavy workload of starting a business. I was obsessed with working. I slept at night, only to be ready the next morning. I exercised and trained my body so I could be efficient for the job.
I took a few days off to rest. My coffeemaker beeped, and an old memory sprang from some hidden compartment in my brain, pushing itself to the forefront. Since then, the random drip has turned into a flow. It’s been an endless cycle of horrible nightmares, followed by restlessness as my memories continue to strike at random. I try to ignore them, but they’re pecking on my subconscious and looming above me, just waiting for another moment to attack. I can’t get relief, except with the drugs. Lauren helps, but I’m afraid for her safety when I’m not medicated.
I grip the sink, dropping my head low. This isn’t me, but it’s me.
God, I never should have brought Lauren into this. She senses everything and is trying to excuse my behavior.
The temptation to cry rises, but I splash water over my face, forcing my body to calm down. Men don’t cry.
Climbing into the bed, I pull her soft body to mine, trying to enjoy this moment with my head lucid before the drugs go into effect. My hands glide into all that g
orgeous, thick hair and soft, lush skin. It’s overwhelming, how good she feels in my arms. I love this woman. I just want to close my eyes for a few minutes, and then I’ll get up and take my pills. Just … a few … minutes …
Nineteen
Lauren
I’m warm in bed, woken up from cursing. White puffs of smoke billow outside his bedroom window. He must be sitting on his small stoop outside, smoking. Climbing out of my warm, blanketed cocoon, I try not to shiver. The clock on the bedside table tells me it’s 3:02 a.m.
I unlock the window before sliding it upward. “Come inside?” My voice cracks into the night. The cool air runs beneath his T-shirt I’m wearing and over my skin, prickling at the deep scratches on my back.
He turns his head and pulls out another. “I’ll be in when I’m fuckin’ ready, man.” His voice is hard and brusque. A new cigarette enters his mouth. He lights up before wringing his hands, talking to someone I can’t see.
My legs shake as I take a deep inhale of his exhales. It’s leftover smoke mixed with his essence. I swallow it down.
In the middle of the night, without my strength of mind, my own subconscious slams straight into the forefront of my thoughts. How long have I been denying the fact that Slade has a bad case of PTSD? Since the night of the shooting in Vegas. He turned into someone else in that club.
I shuffle to his nightstand and open the drawer, finding a clear Ziploc bag filled with what looks like an assortment of tablets in a variety of colors, all mixed together. I shake my head side to side, not wanting to believe what I’m seeing. It can’t be. But it’s here and … undeniable.
Part of Slade is still in Afghanistan. The zoning out, followed by angry spells. It’s all here, written in neon lights. I should have pried. Instead, I closed my eyes, pretending it was all fine. I didn’t really want to know. Because the truth is, I only had two options: face the facts and turn away from him or ignore them and stay. I wanted him too badly, so I dug my head in the sand. But, now, I’m in love with him—and he’s broken and wrecked.
When I move back to the window, his chiseled face is slightly lit by the red glow of his cigarette, sheared head dipped low. Mumbling to himself, he’s speaking words I cannot hear. Suddenly, he stands. Like a criminal, I drop down to the floor, so he won’t see me and think I was prying. What if he knows I opened his drawer? I move my gaze to the bedside table. Would he realize? Could he? I shiver.
Heavy steps come into the house, and the door creaks before shutting. I feel overwhelmed and insecure as kitchen drawers open and slam shut. Liquor cabinet maybe? Nothing I say will work. Is there a point to talk? Minutes later, another cabinet door opens and shuts. I’m not prepared for this! Quietly, I close the window and jump back into the bed, pretending I never left.
Closing my eyes, I feign sleep. He enters the bedroom. I open one eye. Slade can barely stand, smelling like warm smoke and bourbon.
“We’ll be set to clear shortly,” he shouts.
Is he on the phone? I squint both eyes. No. He’s … talking to the wall, to himself.
“Get some shut-eye, boys. Big day tomorrow.” He starts laughing. “Shut up, Rex!” He smiles wide, jokingly.
Slade lays his large body on the bedroom floor and settles. Tears drip down my face in silence. Controlling a cry hurts like hell, my body coiling to stop from gasping. He’s set in the fetal position, his spirit far from the safety of home.
I can’t stay here on the bed while he’s down on the cold wooden floor. Still, I wait five minutes to make sure he’s truly sleeping. I watch the clock, keeping myself frozen until I’m sure the time has passed. Stepping off the bed, I pull the sheets and pillows with me and join him on the floor. I wonder if he skipped the drugs tonight. Maybe that’s why he’s vocal. Lifting his head, I place it on the pillow and cover us with the sheets. What I’m doing is so dangerous, but my heart won’t let me do otherwise.
Sometime in the night, he moves above me. “Babe?”
I hum as he kisses the top of my head, my hair, and my shoulders. Warm lips press against my body as my shorts slide down. At last, my body awakens, not able to help itself against the massive man, his hardness pushing and wanting. I know who he is, and my body responds accordingly.
But does he know me?
“Slade,” I whisper, “who am I?”
“You’re mine, Lauren,” he replies, pressing his forehead against mine. “Always mine.”
His large body shudders as his thick fingers thread through my thin ones. Entering, he pushes within me as though he can’t get close enough or deep enough. We slide against the floor from his movements until the wall stops us, my back burning. Slade clutches my body against his, like a line for his life. His desperation, like sweat, drips all over me.
I score his shoulders with my nails, replying with my body, I’m here, and you’re with me.
My back burns, but I know he wouldn’t hear me even if I spoke. He holds me tighter—so tight, too tight. I can’t get out of his grip. Do I want to? It hurts to love him.
He needs me right now, and while my thinking is screwed up, I want to be the woman he possesses.
This entire night has been horrible, I think as he slams into me again and again.
“How much will I sacrifice?” I whisper blindly into the dark.
His hot, muscled body replies wordlessly as he continues to pound my body. Suddenly and without any warning, I splinter into a million pieces around him. My body has betrayed me.
“Mine,” he shouts shortly after, exploding within me.
Heavy hands squeeze my torn back. He’s pressing me so hard into his chest. My tears start to flow, salty and heavy.
He rolls over, and then, immediately, he falls asleep. I gingerly stand up, taking myself into the bathroom. I clean up before staring at my back in the mirror. Blood is everywhere.
Twenty
Slade
The next morning, I wake up. Lauren’s gone. She’s not in the shower, and she’s not in the kitchen. I pick up the phone, calling Vincent. My heart is in my fucking throat.
“Yo.”
“Where’s Lauren?” I ask without preamble, pacing back and forth across my bedroom floor.
“Hang on.” The phone momentarily breaks before I hear, “Eve?”
“Yeah, babe?” I hear her soft voice in the background.
“Where’s Lauren?”
A muffled response.
The phone crackles before Vincent’s voice comes back on the line, clear as day. “You okay? Where are you right now, Slade?” There is an undercurrent of worry in Vincent’s voice.
“Home,” I grunt, my heart pounding.
“I’m stopping over.”
“Like hell you are. Where. The fuck. Is Lauren?” I can feel my muscles vibrate.
“We don’t know … but you sound like shit. Let me just come over and—”
I hang up the phone and wash up in record time, riding my bike over to the Mile. Lauren cannot leave my home. No fucking way. She owes me more time. She swore she’d be here for two weeks, and she still has days left. I expect her to spend them in my bed with me. I’ll convince her to come back. She has to.
I park right in front of the main entrance, not bothering to park in the lot. Sprinting through the white marble lobby, I jump in the elevator. Luckily, I go directly up to her floor. Strutting down the hall, I get to her room and knock.
The door swings open.
“Hey—” She pauses in shock.
Clearly, she didn’t think I was the one knocking. I step inside.
“Where the hell did you go?” My voice comes out louder and angrier than I intended, but fuck that shit. I’m mad. How dare she just get up and run. We’ve got a few days left.
“You’ve got to calm down, Slade.” Her voice quivers.
“Calm down? I’m not going to calm down when you ran out on me in the middle of the night after making me wild for you!” I yell, pivoting left and slamming my fist into the drywall.
She
jumps, and I turn back toward her, taking a step closer. I can’t control this. My feelings are bigger than I am. She looks so scared, like I’m a goddamn menace.
I swallow, shaking my head. She’s misunderstanding. I need to get her to understand.
“Just wait. I’m not going to hurt you, Lauren—”
“Stay away from me,” she pants, backing up.
Her fear riles me up. How dare she be afraid of me. I’d never hurt her!
She continues moving away.
“Just—fucking—stop running from me!”
Her head shakes side to side, and then she spins around, running into the bathroom and shutting the door with a slam.
I bang against the door, screaming, “Open up! Open the fucking door!”
“Get out, Slade! I’m leaving this place. I refuse to stay here near you,” she yells.
I walk up and down the small hotel room, fury boiling in my veins. I just need some benzos. That’ll calm me down. I feel in my pockets, but they’re empty. In my anger, I left without them.
You’re a junkie, my conscience chimes. You’re fucked up.
I drop myself into the corner of her room and begin doing push-ups. I need to calm down. I have to relax. I repeat this to myself as I pump out fifty reps.
Finally, I settle some.
I walk back to the bathroom door, knocking. “I’m not going to hurt you, Lauren. I won’t. Come out.” I keep my voice steady, clenching and then unclenching my fists. My emotions are haywire.
“You’re not stable,” she answers through the door, her voice stronger and more confident than before. “When I’m with you, I don’t know which version of you I’m going to get. Yes, I have feelings for you. I-I …” Her voice trails off on a stammer.
I want to hear the words I love you. I realize it’s too soon. People don’t normally fall in love so fast. But we did, and I know it as the truth. I see it in her eyes. In the way she moves. Lauren loves me, and I love her. Still, I hold my breath, waiting for them. What if she needs more time for the truth to reach her? I know what I know. Can she see that I would do anything for her? She must know at least that.